Fickle Petunias

I hope your celebration of The Fourth is going well.

Mine? I celebrated well into the night, thanks to a series of loud BOOMS which began late in the evening and continued into the wee hours of morning.

They weren't mine. They were coming from somewhere in the neighborhood. At first I thought somebody's house had blown up ... but I heard no sirens afterward, and decided it must have been fireworks.

It was ... and it continued to be ... well, for a long, long time.

Mind you, I have no objection to Independence ... nor to the celebration of it ... I think it should be celebrated every day ... in many ways ... most of which, it occurs to me, could just as well be nice, quiet celebrations ... free of bluster ... and BOOMS.

My own ... quiet ... celebration continued into dawn and beyond ... I celebrated by sleeping in ... and I recommend it. You should try it. You'll like it.

But enough of all that.

Meanwhile, there's a poem ... a quiet little thing ... lurking on the horizon.

It, like many of my pieces, came to me during one of my walks. As some of you know, I get out and walk every day ... even if only to go around the block.

This one is a little whimsical ... but I don't think that hurts ... even though it does go against a rule laid down by ... somebody ... about never, ever "personifying" things in nature.

Sorry, but I just find that one hard to obey.

So here we are ... finally ... that little poem:

FICKLE PETUNIAS

I have a nodding

acquaintance

with some petunias

who bob excitedly

when I walk by,

but then they

do the same when

a stranger passes.

© 1995

(originally published in Capper's)

***

Today's word:

fickle

(red, white and blue ... did you notice?)

Afterthoughts ...in response to your comments:

Thanks for taking time out from holiday festivities to pay a visit, Helen ... you'll be glad to know that there's no extra charge for the early-morning chuckle.